older the driver the longer the journey the whiter the knuckles
You dangerous road at all times
won't let my mind wander
you keep it focused by reason of
black spots and stretches in total darkness
according to council cost cuttings.
You frighten me with your zigzagging hairpin bends
you test my steering abilities
with your red and white witch hat lined roadwork chicanes
and your sign posted fatality numbers of this year
that immediately lessens the weight of my foot
on the accelerator.
There are other hazards that you cannot warn of
especially at night
and my eyes are left to fend for themselves
looking ahead in the main beam for potholes and
badly repaired patches
unfortunately found by a sudden uplifting and downward thumping
of the car
that tells me and my roof hitting head
where the tarmac should be but isn't
or higher than the original level of the road.
When the scary mile by scary mile is over
and familiar landmarks greet me
I take hold of and give thanks to
the jiggling silver Saint Christopher medallion
hanging from my rearview mirror
after which he continues dancing about
like someone possessed ( which he is-religiously!)
Is it because of the success in bringing another traveller safely home
or just that he loves doing his monkey boy thing
to the sound of my Motorhead CD now playing at full blast?
a noisy way of relieving the journeys tension
and letting my long-suffering neighbours know
that an annoying man is back home!